She could say no more; a procession of dishes commenced: meats, ices, sweetmeats, fruit, wines, coffee, liqueurs; all of which were refused, first by Mavis, then by Windebank.

Mavis, who had been accustomed to consider carefully the spending of a penny, was appalled at the waste. She had hoped that Windebank, after seeing how she was resolved to keep her word, would have countermanded the expensive supper he had ordered; failing this, that the management of the restaurant would not charge for the unconsumed meats and wine.

Windebank would have been flattered could he have known of Mavis's consideration for his pocket.

He and the girl talked when the attendants were out of the way, to stop conversing when they were immediately about them; the two would resume where they had left off, directly they were sure of not being overheard.

"Just imagine, if you were little Mavis Keeves grown up," began Windebank.

"Never mind about her," replied Mavis uneasily.

"But I do. I loved her, the cheeky little wretch."

"Was she?"

"A little flirt, too."

"Oh no."

"Fact. I think it made me love her all the more."

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" she asked, making a sad little effort to be light-hearted.

"I wish I could. There was a chap named Perigal, whom the little flirt preferred to me."

"Perigal?"

"Charlie Perigal. We were laughing about it only the week before last."

"He loved her too?"

"Rather. I remember we both subscribed to buy her a birthday present.

Anyway, the week before last, we both asked each other what had become of her, and promised to let each other know if we heard anything of her."

"If I were Mavis Keeves, would you let him know?"

"No fear."

Mavis smiled at the reply.

"Then we come to to-day," continued Windebank.

"The least said of to-day the better."

"I'm not so sure; it may have the happiest results."

"Don't talk nonsense."

"Do let me go on. a.s.suming you were little Mavis, where do I find her--eh?"

Here Windebank's face hardened.

"That woman ought to be shot," he cried. "As it is, I've a jolly good mind to show her up. And to think she got you there!"

"Ssh!"

"You've no idea what a house it is. It's quite the worst thing of its kind in London."

"Then what were you doing there?"

"Eh!"

"What were you doing there?"

"I'm not a plaster saint," he replied.

"Who said you were?"

"And I'm interested in life: curious to see all sides of it. She's often asked me, but to-night, when she wired to say she'd a paragon coming to dinner, I went."

"She wired?"

"To-night. It all but missed me. I'm no end of glad it didn't."

"I suppose I ought to be glad too," remarked Mavis.

"I know you think me a bad egg, but I'm not; I'm not really," he went on, to add, after a moment's pause, "I believe at heart I'm a sentimentalist."

"What's that?"

"A bit of a bally fool where the heart is concerned. What?"

"I think all nice people are that," she murmured.

"Thanks."

"I wasn't including you," she remarked.

"Eat that ice."

"Wild horses wouldn't make me."

"You'd eat it if you knew what pleasure it would give me."

"You want me to break my word?" she said, with a note of defiance in her voice.

"Have your own way."

"I mean to,"